


A Taste of Pumpkin Spice

by valda



Series: Huxloween 2016 [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Blow Jobs, Huxloween, M/M, Mitaka the plot device makes another appearance, Public Blow Jobs, Pumpkin Spice Lattes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/pseuds/valda
Summary: Kylo Ren, street artist, comes into this coffee shop every day. A certain writer does too, but Kylo has never noticed...until now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Huxloween! The day one prompt was "pumpkin spice lattes" :)

“Did you know that it’s not actually pumpkin flavored? It’s pumpkin _spice_ flavored.”

Kylo had only just retrieved his pumpkin spice latte from the barista and was trying to settle in at a high top with his tablet. He looked up and was momentarily taken aback to discover that the redheaded stranger who had spoken was nearly his same height. That wasn’t something that tended to happen much.

“The spices used in pumpkin pie,” the man continued when Kylo didn’t respond. “Cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, allspice, and cloves.”

Who _was_ this guy? Kylo rolled his eyes with a huff. “You memorize that?”

“Er,” the man said. His face, which was a rather ghastly shade of pale, began turning pink, but only in certain spots, blotches blossoming across his cheeks. He fumbled the briefcase he was carrying, glanced down to the floor and then back up. “Sorry,” he said, and then he turned and walked away, lifting his chin.

“Nerd,” Kylo muttered, settling in at his table.

~

“You realize he was trying to flirt with you, right?”

“ _What_?”

Phasma had, as usual, made a ridiculous pronouncement right when Kylo’s cue stick was on the forward slide. Usually this resulted in him simply missing his shot. Today it resulted in a complete miscue.

Phasma smirked, the only acknowledgement she would make of her lowlife billiards tactics. She leaned over the table to take her shot; the cue ball, conveniently, had lined her up for a combo.

“I hate you,” Kylo said as she sank all three balls.

“Corner pocket,” Phasma replied, and sure enough, she made that shot too. “Best out of five?” she grinned.

“No thanks.”

“He was totally flirting, though,” Phasma said as they moved from the pool tables to the bar.

“Why would some guy I don’t even know randomly come up and start flirting with me?”

“I don’t know; why would some guy you don’t even know randomly come up and hit you with fascinating pumpkin spice facts?”

Kylo blinked. “Huh.”

~

The guy was there again when Kylo returned to the coffee shop the next morning. He was sitting off by himself in a corner, buried in a laptop. Kylo frowned.

“Is that guy always here?” he asked the kid who was working the register. _Doph_ , his nametag read. Was he new?

“Um, yes,” Doph said, hands behind his back. He seemed the nervous type; Kylo imagined his fingers were twisting together. “He comes in every day for several hours and works on his laptop.”

“Huh,” Kylo said. “Has he been doing that the whole time you’ve worked here?”

“Well, no,” Doph said, “I’ve worked here for five years and he only started coming in last month or so—”

“ _Five years_?” Kylo asked incredulously. “How have I never seen you before?”

“Um,” Doph said. “You see me every day. I almost always take your order.”

Kylo cocked his head to the side. “Huh,” he said again. “Well, anyway. PSL.”

He settled into a booth this time, angled so he was facing the redhead but not in his direct line of sight. The guy was typing very intently and very fast. He had blue eyes, or maybe green, and he was wearing a button-down dress shirt. There was a blazer draped over the chair across from him. His red hair, Kylo noticed, was perfectly slicked back, not a cowlick to be seen. He had perfect features, too, high cheekbones and a mouth that wasn’t too big. It wasn’t too big, Kylo amended, but it did boast rather full lips.

Had the man really been flirting? Why? What would such a straitlaced guy want with Kylo Ren?

Kylo came to the coffee shop every day for about an hour. He didn’t always come at the same time, because he never got up at the same time. He stayed out late drinking and spent his days in the studio. He wore ratty jeans and old band t-shirts with the sleeves ripped off and his nose and ears were pierced and he was forever splattered in acrylic paint and wheat paste. There was a large, black tattoo that he’d designed himself clearly visible on one shoulder. He was absolutely not the kind of guy such a stiff, perfectly pressed specimen like this would date.

Phasma had to be wrong.

Kylo liked to do a little free drawing on his tablet while he enjoyed his morning (or noon, or afternoon, or evening) coffee. Today, however, he found that he couldn’t concentrate on it. He kept looking over at the redhead, who was still furiously typing away, oblivious.

“Fuck it,” Kylo said aloud. He rose from his table and strolled over to Mr. Fancy Pants.

The man glanced up at Kylo’s approach, then jerked back as though startled. “What–?” he said, his voice pitching high.

“Hey,” Kylo said, leaning his forearm on the guy’s table. “What else do you know about pumpkin spice lattes?”

“Oh,” the man said, blinking and glancing away, “um. That was about it, what I said yesterday.”

“Ah,” Kylo said. He looked at the man until he turned his eyes back to Kylo. “What do you do here all day?”

“I’m a writer,” the man said, and he seemed to relax ever so slightly. “When I’m not working on pitches or articles, I’m working on…my novel,” and at that he looked away again, seemingly embarrassed.

“A writer, huh?” Kylo asked. “But all you could come up with to talk about was the ingredients of pumpkin spice? Aren’t writers supposed to be clever?”

The man flushed, just as he had the day before. This time, though, his lips twisted into a scowl. “A writer does not have to be clever on demand,” he hissed. “My writing is carefully honed over days, weeks, months. I polish it until it shines. My process is just as valid as anyone else’s.”

“So how long did you polish that turd of a conversation starter?”

The man brought his flat palm down rather loudly on the table. “ _Look_ , Ren, I’m sorry to have bothered you. You have sufficiently bothered me in retribution. Now could we please go back to living our lives separately, sitting in this coffee shop day after day and never speaking?”

“So you really are in here every day?”

The man deflated slightly. “Yes,” he said.

“Huh,” Kylo said. Then another thought struck him. “How do you know my name?”

“You’re Kylo Ren, the street artist. I’ve…I’ve written articles about you,” and this came out in a rush like it was a confession.

“Oh!” Kylo said with dawning understanding. “So you wanted an interview.” Stupid Phasma. He’d known all along that it couldn’t have been flirting. Only…now that it was confirmed that it hadn’t been, he wasn’t sure he liked it very much.

“Yes,” the writer said, and he was staring at Kylo intently now as if daring him to look away. Something had changed in his face. “I’d love an interview. Over dinner. My treat.” His tone was almost challenging.

Kylo dropped into the booth next to the guy, exasperated. “Look,” he sighed, “you’re gonna have to spell this out for me. Are you flirting with me or not? Because I can’t—”

Sudden lips on his answered _that_ question. The kiss was brief and almost perfectly chaste—there was a hint of tongue right at the end—and then the guy pulled back and said, “Asshole.”

Kylo grinned at him. “Charmer,” he replied. The pink blotches were back on the guy’s face, only now that Kylo really looked at them, they were more like an adorable blush that didn’t quite know what to do with itself. Kind of like the guy whose face they were plastered over.

He leaned toward him, caught his lower lip between his teeth, and sucked it into his mouth. The redhead gasped a puff of hot air across Kylo’s mouth. Kylo hummed with pleasure and sucked on the guy’s lip a little, then let it slide from his mouth so he could run his tongue along the inside of his upper lip—

“Please don’t do that here,” came a timid voice from right in front of the guy’s table. Kylo looked up. It was that Doph kid again. “Can you just, please, go somewhere else. Maybe somewhere private.”

Kylo grinned. “Jealous?” he asked.

“No,” Doph said miserably, “just…”

“I think he’s jealous,” Kylo said, turning back to the redhead.

“I’m not, I—”

“Ren, he just works here, he doesn’t want us…disturbing other patrons,” the writer said. His face was still flushed, and his pupils were huge.

“Aw,” Kylo drawled. “Okay. Let’s take this somewhere else.” He gently snapped the redhead’s laptop closed and rose to his feet, grabbing the guy’s wrist.

Kylo made for the exit at first, but when he heard Doph sigh in relief behind him, he abruptly changed direction. “Ren, what—?” the redhead yelped, and then Kylo was towing him into the bathroom.

“There,” Kylo said, shutting and locking the door. “Someplace private. Now we won’t bother any _patrons_.”

“Except people who need to use the toilet—” Kylo successfully shut him up by mouthing over his jawline and then down his neck. “Ah,” he said, and Kylo smiled against his skin.

“I’m in the mood for a little pumpkin spice,” he said.

“What?”

Kylo went to his knees.

“…oh.”

Then the guy’s slacks were open and his cock was free of his briefs and Kylo was tasting him, taking him, working him, so that for some time the only sounds to pass between those pretty lips were moans, curses, and Kylo’s name.

Some time later, Kylo sat back onto his heels with a deep sense of satisfaction. The redhead was slumped against the wall, gasping for breath; he looked beautiful. “Ren,” he panted. “Kylo.”

“Oh!” Kylo said, snapping his fingers. “That reminds me.” He rose shakily to his feet, crowded the guy against the wall, and gave him a sloppy kiss. Then he drew back and asked softly, fingers mussing his perfect hair, “What’s your name?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please don’t give someone whose name you don’t even know a blowjob in a public restroom! At least not without using protection. ;D


End file.
